


Watching

by koanju (verstehen)



Series: Greek Myths Series [3]
Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: F/F, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clytemnestra loves her sister. That’s why she watches Helen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

Clytemnestra watched. Mostly she watched her sister. Watched the way she moved gracefully, every stroke of her hand a poem, each wrinkle from laughter around her eyes told a story. A story of a new suitor, a new lover coming with gifts for their father, with garlands and words of flattery for Helen none of which came close to describing her long hair, perfectly matched features, her curves. Clytemnestra privately thought of them like the sea on a quiet day. Helen had all things she could want. And now she - they both did - had a husband. The suitors would leave them in peace now.

She was looking forward to the quiet and the chance to get to know her husband. Agamemnon wasn’t from Sparta, he was an Achaean just like Helen’s suitor and their ways weren’t Spartan ways. She hoped that didn’t cause more trouble.

But it would. Of course it would. Helen was too beautiful for it not to cause trouble.

She wanted to go to Helen, to warn her to be wary of Gods and men. She looked at the door to her bedroom, where her new husband was supposed to come.

He could wait. That was what the men of Sparta did.

She pushed herself off the bed and strode easily to the door. Helen was only a room away. Clytemnestra slid open the door and peeked in.

Helen was on the bed, gasping in pleasure. Her long dark hair covered the bed in rings as her hips lifted into dark hands.

If Helen's movements were poems, these hands, those beautiful hands, were lyric epics. They moved along Helen's thighs and her vagina. Clytemnestra could hear whispering, both from Helen and the voice that had to belong to the hands. Helen was begging and agreeing, her own hands cupping her breasts.

"You'll know, when you see him." The hands penetrated Helen's body as the voice seduced her, lovely, dulcet female tones. "You'll know, though it may be years from now, and you'll follow him."

"Yes! Please!"

The hands continued to stroke and touch and massage Helen everywhere, as Clytemnestra watched. She knew she was party to the presence of a Goddess. There was no other explanation.

So she watched. It was the only thing she could do. She was helpless by the sight of her sister finally in someone else's thrall. To see glorious Helen, who laughed at everyone and believed herself better, who loved no one but herself, begging.

"Please!" Helen gasped and her hips bucked up once, sharply, into those hands.

Clytemnestra saw luminous strands of hair fall over Helen's face. They were kissing.

"Thank you, thank you Beautiful One," Helen breathed out.

"Remember the gift I've given you," the voice, Aphrodite, that was who this was, the Goddess of Love – who else would visit Helen but the Goddess? – "And you'll always be in my favor."

"Thank you," Helen whispered.

Clytemnestra loved Helen. That was why she watched her sister. The favor of a Goddess, this would mean trouble. She would be ready.


End file.
